Memories of the Heart

by Marylyle Rogers

  “So, you intend to exile me?” Despite his fury, Ulrich’s deep growl contained a strong measure of quiet desperation. “Abandon me to find my way in this land despoiled by anarchy?”

  “Nay,” Tal instantly denied the ridiculous accusation—as if he had any responsibility for the man’s future—but his wry smile, devoid of humor, hid an earnest wish that he could do just that. “You may remain in Westbourne’s garrison—as one of my guardsman but under Sir Alan’s command.”

  Ulrich’s face turned a dangerously dark hue yet he refused to cringe beneath the insult of being demoted to serve beneath a younger man long under his authority. And worse, a man whose kind heart Ulrich believed made him weak and inadequate to lead.

  Still, although Ulrich did not directly respond to this offer both men knew that he had little choice but to remain—at least for a time. Nonetheless, Ulrich was quick to lash back at his lord with a stinging indictment of his own.

  “Are you certain that the newly arrived Welshwoman is worthy of your protection? So little is known about her. Can you be sure Ceri hasn’t come to your home with dark goals of her own? Is she not from Llechu, site of the recent treacherous assault? How do you know that she wasn’t a part of the plot responsible for Cedric’s death and the wounding of both you and Alan? Or that she hasn’t come to finish that deadly chore?”

  These unsavory accusations lit golden sparks in Tal’s eyes but his expression revealed no emotion. He possessed a hard-earned and well-respected reputation for his ability to make fair and accurate judgments of people. And though it was true that he barely knew Ceri, still he believed that during their brief time together the past eve he’d seen enough to recognize her intelligence and sweet nature. Now Sir Ulrich’s implication that he had failed to see the truth of Ceri’s nature was disturbing but it nowise altered his judgment on the measures to be taken in taming his guard captain.

  “No matter that, Sir Ulrich,” Tal flatly stated. “My decision to replace you remains unchanged. Tonight I’ll talk with Sir Alan and on the morrow will make his promotion official.”

  Against this inflexible announcement that today was his last day as Westbourne’s guard captain Ulrich’s teeth gritted yet he succeeded in stifling a growl of anger unborn in his throat.

  “All the guardsmen of the garrison are doubtless waiting for us both.” Tal rose to his full height and gazed unemotionally down on the long too self-important Ulrich. “Gather your weapons and let’s delay the day’s patrol no longer.”

  * * *

  The past night’s heavy rainfall had washed away forest grime to leave its greenery glowing in the morning light. At the forefront of his patrol, Tal tried to concentrate on the beauty in this fresh start of a new day rather than the resentment billowing from the knight riding behind.

  It was an impossible task. Tal signaled a halt and turned in his saddle to face those following single file.

  “After the ominous discovery made yesterday along this route, I think we might accomplish more by dividing into two separate groups. I will continue leading one half of our number southward down the border while Ulrich guides the others north.”

  Ulrich was surprised by this decision which by rights should have been earlier discussed with a guard captain. He audibly ground his teeth, resenting this further emphasis of how limited was his remaining time in that position.

  Yet, even as Ulrich’s assigned group formed to follow him, he maliciously welcomed this unexpected opportunity to exact a measure of revenge. A fortuitous chance that also confirmed the sharp wits on which he prided himself. After all, he’d had the good sense to make an addition to the usual cache of weapons rolled in homespun and strapped to his saddle.

  While Lord Tal and the men in his command disappeared down the path, Ulrich gave orders of his own to those left with him.

  “Lord Taliesan has his tactics to meet the looming threat but as it was his choice to leave you in my charge—” He glared from one waiting man to the next. “I feel justified in employing my own.”

  Because the uneasy guardsmen knew better than to challenge the reasoning of their irritable captain no one dared speak.

  “Rather than move in one long, continuous line which covers only a very narrow band of ground, it’s my plan to proceed side by side.” Ulrich dramatically motioned in emphasis of his intent. “In this manner, not necessarily within eyesight but always within shouting range, we’ll sweep over a much wider area.”

  Ulrich and his men realigned their positions and soon were moving through the woodland—slowly and with considerable difficulty since each was forced to blaze a fresh trail through arduous terrain.

  At the same time Tal steadily led his men further south along the border without incident until …

  Z-z-z-wi-i-ing!!!

  An arrow whizzed past Tal, so close that the breeze of its passing stirred the black hair brushing his broad shoulder.

  With the uneasy sensation of a thing already done, Tal promptly reined his destrier to a halt and glanced back to make certain of his men’s safety. Fortunately it seemed the arrow that missed him had flown far wide of those behind. Even more fortunately, no additional sharp missiles followed.

  Several guardsmen immediately urged their mounts forward and closed into a tight, protective circle around their threatened lord. Others, determined to pursue the wretched assailant, spurred their steeds into the wildwood from whence the missile had come.

  * * *

  At the seneschal’s direction, an agitated houseserf approached the solar with a flagon of wine for her lady. Inside Angwen and Vevina were bent over a large frame while skillfully plying their needles to a complicated tapestry.

  A slight, secret smile appeared on Angwen’s lips while she blindly gazed at the intricate and time-consuming pattern purposefully devised to cover the wall behind the high table. She was pleased to have found an itinerant peddler moving from Westbourne to Farleith and successfully dispatched with him a message without awkward questions posed.

  “Come,” Angwen called in response to a faint rapping. Glancing up with a welcoming smile, she was startled by the sight of a servant normally self-composed but now badly rattled.

  “Is there a problem, Mary?” Angwen warily inquired of the woman settling a wine tray atop the chamber’s small table with unusual awkwardness.

  The question itself brought a flood of tears to muffle her answer. “I’m not to say.”

  Putting her needle aside with far less care than was her wont, Angwen hurried to the side of this young woman wed to one of the garrison’s guardsmen. She feared that harm to Mary’s husband might be the cause of this woman’s tears. And, worse, harm to him might mean danger to Tal.…

  Under Angwen’s desperate pleas and Vevina’s gentle urging, Mary blurted out news of the foiled attack on Westbourne’s border patrol … but not the true source of her terror. Mary greatly feared that by answering Lady Blanche’s unexpected message she might unintentionally have contributed to this ghastly wrong.

  Horrified by the report of an assault, Angwen rushed with perilous haste from the chamber, down winding steps, and into the great hall, anxious to be reassured that her son was as truly unharmed as Mary claimed. Even while icy fingers of fear clutched her heart, determination grew to demand an explanation for why she hadn’t been immediately called to Taliesan’s side.

  To spare his mother distress during the purposeless commotion certain to descend on the hall moments after the return of a patrol attacked, Tal hadn’t sent for her on his arrival. Now, seeing her rush across the hall, face unnaturally pale, he realized how unintentionally cruel his choice had been. He instantly stepped down from the dais and in a few long strides took both her hands into his own strong, reassuring clasp.

  “Don’t fret, Mother. No one was harmed.” He gave her a smile of rare warmth. “Indeed, the foiled attack won for us a prize earnestly sought—the culprit responsible was captured.”

  “Praise God and all His saints!” Angwen’s
words were heartfelt.

  “’Struth, Lady Angwen.” The voice of a robust guardsman filled with elated triumph quickly supported his lord. “We caught the Welsh wretch who dared attack his master.”

  Only after Percy made his disdain for the Welsh clear with these words did he remember that his lady was a member of that race. Alarm over the countess’s likely response promptly suffused his face with ruby color.

  Angwen slowly turned a pointed glare on the one who had made this bold announcement. She recognized Percy’s apprehension and the reason behind it. However, because she had long since shifted her loyalty from Llechu to Westbourne, she found it more amusing than insulting and merely made a simple, sharp demand. “What is this Welsh wretch’s name?”

  Greatly relieved by the leniency of this limited reprisal, Percy quickly answered. “Lloyd, the man who brought Vevina’s niece to Westbourne, was Lord Taliesan’s assailant.”

  Angwen’s lips firmed into a single fierce line. Ceridwen’s escort? The one responsible for the attack on her son was the man who had brought the girl here, the same one who had nearly cost her Vevina’s company? She hadn’t lived this long amid Norman intrigues and royal battles without learning enough to recognize that there was more here than that simple threat.

  “Tal, I beg you to come with me to the solar. I won’t feel truly convinced of your well-being until we’ve had time together—alone.”

  It was clear to Tal that his mother had more purpose for this request than the desire for reassurance of his health but he also knew she wouldn’t be content until he had yielded to her plea.

  Once inside the solar with door firmly closed to assure their privacy, Angwen immediately turned to her son with an earnest warning.

  “Your assailant brought Ceridwen here. And she was raised from birth by her grandmother, that old witch, Mabyn—the one responsible for the deaths of both your brother and father.”

  Tal had heard his mother’s dubious beliefs repeated too many times and each had only deepened his certainty of the truth that he was more to blame than the aging wise woman of Llechu.

  “I know that Ceridwen was raised by Mab.” Tal patiently assured his parent, intending to lull her anxiety. “Ceri told me of her lonely childhood.”

  Rather than calming Angwen, Tal’s words heightened her dread. She clutched his arm, demanding, “When?”

  Tal laid soothing fingers over his mother’s desperate grip while quietly answering her urgent query. “Last night.”

  Angwen gave her head a despairing shake. “What more did you do with that creature almost sure to be as dangerous as her grandmother?”

  “We talked and shared mulled wine. That and no more.” Tal sternly met her accusing eyes. “But, Mother, I pray you to remember that the elderly woman you name witch and blame for all the sorrows of your life is even more surely the woman who saved my life with her medicinal potions.”

  Frustrated by her inability to convince her son of the peril, Angwen sharply turned and departed from the chamber.

  Alone and welcoming the peace in this rare event, Tal took advantage of its opportunity to ponder the tangled maze of nebulous threats and definite dangers stretching around him on all side.

  Tal didn’t want to believe that Ceri, his fantasy’s angel, was capable of treachery against him … but he couldn’t completely dismiss doubts raised, suspicions now reinforced by both Ulrich and his own mother. He would be a fool to ignore such undeniable facts as the near certainty of her escort’s guilt in the most recent assault and likely involvement in the first. And a fool he was not!

  * * *

  While Tal dealt with his mother’s fears in the family solar, Lloyd was being hauled, tightly bound, down the corner stairwell. On their descent to the dank and dingy dungeons at the lowest level they passed the ground floor’s kitchens and guardroom.

  Along the way such a noisy commotion was raised by victorious guardsmen given control of the prisoner that it drew a curious and sizable crowd to the arched portal of the large chamber where Ceri toiled. Soon she, too, yielded to that insistent curiosity and made her way to the opening.

  Though the shortest and furthest back in the crowd, still Ceri caught a dispiriting glimpse of her protector and friend from Llechu—Lloyd was their prisoner.

  Chapter 10

  Castle Westbourne at last settled into silence while its myriad of weary inhabitants claimed a few hours of much needed rest.

  A narrow band of the waning moon, like a work-worn scythe arcing though the night sky, cast a weak glow into the alcove where Ceri sat facing her aunt.

  “I swear by the Holy Cross that it was Lloyd.” Ceri earnestly whispered news she’d waited so long to share with the only other person likely to care—or agree that the action was an injustice. “Sir Ulrich dragged him down into the dungeons!”

  Having only just been permitted to retreat from her lady’s chamber, Vevina barely had time to lower herself onto the mattress when her niece solemnly delivered these unpleasant tidings. How could Lloyd be responsible for this latest assault on Lord Tal? With the question came immediate self-mockery. After all, hadn’t she already feared him to be the one behind the attack in Llechu?

  Vevina’s thoughts churned with distasteful questions. If it was true that Lloyd had been taken to the dungeons as prisoner, why hadn’t Lady Angwen gloated? Vevina was familiar enough with her lady to know that the noblewoman delighted in underscoring the rightness in her assessment of others. Time and again she had cautioned Vevina that Lloyd was not worthy to claim her as wife. Oh, Lady Angwen had certainly told her about the assault and the capture of its culprit … but she hadn’t mentioned Lloyd’s name.

  Why, if it was true?

  Was Lady Angwen’s fear about her son’s apparent interest in Ceri so overwhelming that she’d chosen not to waste time gloating over Lloyd’s misdeed that could be better spent convincing Vevina to warn her niece away from the earl?

  Ceri leaned forward and brushed her aunt’s hand in gentle demand for full attention.

  “Following Lloyd’s capture and imprisonment, others toiling in the kitchens were quick to tell me that the lord’s court will very soon meet. They also said that once adjudged the assailant, Lloyd will of a certainty be executed!” Panic infused Ceri’s voice. She refused to believe for an instant that her lifelong guardian would attempt such treachery.

  Recognizing Ceri’s sincere trust in Lloyd, Vevina turned her hand over to reassuringly squeeze the girl’s fingers while biting back a confession of her own suspicions. No point in tarnishing her niece’s image of Lloyd … particularly not when she knew private facts which would make that action despicable.

  “But wasn’t it only this time yestereve that you told me Lloyd intended a return to Llechu with the rising of this day’s sun?” With the soft words, Vevina freed her hand to begin methodically releasing the weight of dark braids coiled atop her head. “So, how is it that he was captured beyond the border of Westbourne and some distance into Farleith lands?”

  Ceri had no answer to give. Inwardly castigating herself, she slowly shook her head and her own cloud of ebony hair slid forward. Only now had Ceri recognized her failure in not having asked Lloyd if he planned a direct journey to Llechu or if he even meant to go there at all.

  “No matter, Aunt Vevina. Surely you agree that Lloyd can’t possibly have been responsible for the crime against our lord.” Ceri championed her guardian’s cause the more fervently for the painful ache of her guilt in having even momentarily doubted him. “And that being so, we must do something to see him freed before his life his wrongly held forfeit.”

  “What I see—” Vevina paused in threading fingers through now loosened plaits to gaze directly into silver-green eyes. “Is that we both should calmly look more closely into the villainy of this day and all the measures taken to remedy the situation. It’s this that must be done before we madly attempt something foolish and, therefore, doomed to failure.”

  Ceri frowned yet inwardly
acknowledged the wisdom of her aunt’s caution and reluctantly nodded.

  “Your unhappy news of Lloyd’s plight—” Approaching another distressing subject, Vevina gave her niece an odd smile of regret. “Almost drove from my mind the matter that I came to this alcove intending to talk with you about—even if it meant waking you from a sound sleep.”

  Surprised by the sight of her aunt’s rare uneasiness, Ceri curiously waited to hear what difficult topic she wanted to discuss.

  “I am told that Sir Ulrich attacked you again last eve.” Vevina’s solemn words were full of her honest concern.

  “Aye, but—” Ceri immediately responded only to be halted by her aunt’s uplifted hand.

  “I know you were rescued by Lord Taliesan,” Vevina quickly stated before slowly adding, “But I also know you then spent a deal too many of the night’s late hours alone with him.”

  “’Struth, but—” Again Ceri tried to speak while for the first time realizing that these bare facts would have it seem she had willingly played the whore. She had shared intimate hours with Tal, yet it hadn’t been the previous night. And because those hours in a Welsh cottage, leastways for her, had been a deed of love, she instantly defended her action.

  “Lord Taliesan merely played the good lord, caring for one of his people. He gallantly calmed nerves rasped by the guard captain’s assault, sharing with me goblets of mulled wine and tales of childhood.”

  Vevina grimaced. The wine she believed might have a soothing effect, the stories seemed rather less likely but she wouldn’t challenge the niece whose innocence she didn’t really doubt.

  “You do recognize how inappropriate such an action is in this vast fortress where gossip vines flourish and constantly seek nourishment for fresh sprouts?”

  A somber Ceri nodded, heart sinking with the knowledge that this would make winning her goal nearly impossible.

  “I’m glad.” Vevina smiled in gentle comfort for the plainly disheartened girl. Lady Angwen was right. It was better to quash irrational dreams early than to watch the hurt their loss would later bring. “Then you do understand that Lord Taliesan is destined for union with a woman from amongst his peers—not a common Welshwoman serving in his castle.”